Caged
by MyNameIsMelissaGrace
Summary: No matter what his father said, Arthur Pendragon refused to believe that the boy in the cage was dangerous.
1. Prologue

Hello, I'm Melissa Grace,

The idea of this FanFiction has been playing in my head for quite sometime. I've always wondered what it might be like if Arthur and Merlin had met under completely different circumstances, and I suppose that's one of the reasons I decided to write this. I'm not going to give too much away, except that I plan for this to be long and I'm excited to have the chance to dedicate my time to this_. _

It goes without saying that I don't own anything in relation to Merlin, so all of the credit goes to the writers, the actors and so on forth. The only association I have with the show is that I'm an enormous fan of it, and I dearly wish that it was still on my television screen. Last, but certainly not least, you can also find my story on A03.

I hope you enjoy it!

-M x.

* * *

—**Prologue— **

_The winters were harsh in Camelot. After nearly a decade since his birth, Arthur Pendragon had become acquainted with the warmest hideouts for when the castle was dusted in snow. He even bothered to remember the name of the manservants who lit the greatest fires that kept him comfortable during the merciless chill. On this morning, however, he neglected to settle in his chambers where the covers of his bed would protect him from the bitter sting of the air. Rather, he had positioned himself on the topmost stair just outside the castle, fists tucked tightly beneath his chin and elbows rested on his knees. Though he trembled violently inside the oversized coat he had donned, his mind dwelled on anything but the cold._

_His father, the respected king of Camelot, had disappeared deep into the night accompanied by knights who proudly brandished their swords about. The actions had concerned Arthur, who had begged Uther to linger until the snow cleared. Stubborn and ever unwilling to be challenged, the king had __demanded he show some respect__ and wait for his return._

_So the young prince, out of unwavering loyalty, had done precisely that. His task was by no means a simple one. Hours rolled by like waves in the sea and Arthur grew drastically colder by the second. If he did not retire soon, he would surely fall dangerously ill but despite the persistence of the night, he refused to move a single muscle. Instead he merely accepted their constant gifts of steaming broths and other scorching meals, most of which he had pushed aside, with no more than an ungrateful nod of acknowledgement._

_It wasn't until late into the night that he first heard the calls of men. Arthur jumped to his feet, nearly toppling over with the unexpected weakness of his limbs and squinted in desperation for the frame of his father. A blizzard was nearing, and he was most appreciative that they had returned sooner rather than later. Yet the gratitude that had shone through his piercing blue eyes disappeared within moments when the the expression of his father crept into his vision._

_There was anger and hatred that raged in the man's eyes, but it was the kind that oftentimes followed a tiring victory. Arthur swallowed hesitantly, unable to recall the declaration of a war within their kingdom, and hoped that no knight of Camelot had lost his life. Relief clouded his mind as he counted the men who trudged behind his father, only to discover that not a single head was missing. His eyes fell thereafter on the thrashing figure within the strong arms of Uther._

_In the blink of an eye, the boy's heart plummeted. He was desperate to seize the attention of his father, but whatever words he yearned to speak were lost in his throat. Uther, who was adamant that he must prioritise the heir to his throne before all else, marched right past him for the second time. Though Arthur stood rooted to the spot, it was not the fast approaching snowstorm that made him shiver._

_Before he had the chance to comprehend what had unfolded before him, Arthur turned rapidly on his heel. His feet thundered against the hard ground as he followed in the sounds of their booming voices. He twisted through corridors that he had never been through before, entered corridors that were forbidden, twisted his way down stairwells that were dangerously steep until finally he came to a room scarily unfamiliar to him. _

_That was not the problem._

_The scene that unravelled was impossible for the prince to believe. He longed for nothing more than to squeeze his eyes shut and to disregard the cries of agony, but he was immobilised. Time and again, he had witnessed the menacing ways of his father and wholeheartedly believed it was for the good of his people. This was infinitely worse than anything he had ever glimpsed before and Arthur blinked back tears, certain that this must be a nightmare. Finally, when his legs were again at his command, he ducked beneath the table and heard the child scream._

_For Arthur, it was far too late for him to forget the sight of the boy in sheer pain. He choked back sobs, knowing that the screams of distress and pleas for help followed weapons and fists colliding with fragile skin. The prince shook his head, embarrassed of his own weakness, and pushed himself to the farthest corner of the room. This could not be reality, he reminded himself as tears streamed down his pale cheeks. His father wouldn't dare cause such heartless destruction to an innocent child._

_It seemed as though an eternity had passed since the noise diminished into frantic intakes of air. Arthur peered through the crack of his hiding place, conscious of the remorseful expressions of the knights and all too aware that his father's face showed no trace of guilt. While his tears subsided, the ringing in his ears hindered him from hearing. He knew, however, that his father must have commanded they all disperse to rest, for the knights and he soon shuffled out of the room. They had left the young prince alone with what was left of the boy they had captured._

_He merely sat, shuddering and needing to wake from his disturbed slumber. There was no change at all and Arthur became hauntingly aware of how real the bite of the cold was, of all the sounds that echoed in the room from close by and of the distinct odour of what he was certain was fresh blood. Arthur turned his gaze toward the door and bolted, reluctant to glance at the body that surely rested there._

_The prince never made it halfway to his destination. Something not far away from him had moved, however slight, but it was enough to urge him to whip around on the spot. He regretted his decision instantly, for his eyes were met with the sight of an enormously wounded body. His hands readily reached for something to support him, but he instead stumbled toward the cage that the boy had been thrown in. _

"_Are you okay?" he spluttered._

_His question was wretched and the young prince loathed himself for his words. The answer to his question lay quaking before him, spindly wrists bound in ruthlessly tight ropes. Unsurprised that his words gained nothing but silence, he dared to push a small hand inside the case. His fingertips barely grazed the skin of the fragile boy, but it was enough to make the prisoner flinch._

"_I didn't mean to frighten you." He spoke with great tenderness in his voice, in much the same way he would to one of his dogs, and withdrew his hand. "My father can be scary, but he's nice most of the time," Arthur assured as he dragged a wooden crate closer to the cage so that he could sit. It occurred to him that his own words may have been untrue. Uther was a truly terrifying man but, guiltily, Arthur remembered that the only people he showed at least a shred of compassion to was his knights. Even more toward his son and ward, but never any of the commoners. "What's your name?"_

_His words were followed by the sound of unsteady breaths. If the prisoner had a response, or even a name to give, he seemed unwilling to do so. In any other scenario, the silence would have made Arthur feel greatly affronted._

"_You don't look much younger than me," Arthur went on, and tugged his legs into his body for warmth. It was impossibly cold in this part of the castle. He hoped that the boy in the cage would survive. "We could be friends. My father says I'm not supposed to have them, and I'd be breaking the law if I freed you, but…" he shrugged. "It gets lonely and I could bring you down the onion broth the cook makes me."_

_Still nothing but quiet, save for the rustling of his feet against the ground. Arthur began to grow doubtful that the boy would ever speak. His stomach rumbled loudly and he wished he had thought to take the food with him that the maids had provided him with. Yet when he caught a glimpse of the blood smeared on the other's face, he rapidly lost his appetite._

"_My name's Arthur, by the way. Arthur Pendragon. And I'm going to be the king of Camelot one day," he tried. __The boy seemed to grow weaker and paler by the second. Arthur had prayed he may have the strength to speak, to give any indication that he had will to survive this, yet even as Arthur watched he felt the spark of hope inside him wither and die.__ "I have to go," he announced doubtfully. "My father might come searching for me."_

_He gave the boy a nod and reached into the cage one more. This time, he stretched with all his might and rested a hand upon a tiny shoulder. Although the boy's eyes watered, which Arthur abruptly understood was perhaps all he could do, he did not deny the touch. It lasted only briefly, and with a look of pure sorrow, he turned towards the door._

"_Mer… Merlin," came the soft, almost unnoticeable voice from within the room. "My name's… Merlin."_

_The prince's hand hovered by the door but his head turned to face the boy. He had managed to pull himself upright and in that moment, Arthur realised that the grievances to his body were far greater than he ever could have imagined. Anger flashed within his eyes, far more than what a boy his age should ever be forced to experience. The loathing that coursed through his veins was not directed at the prisoner._

"_Merlin," he repeated. "I'll save you. You'll be free before you know it." _

_And with that, he slipped from the room, all too prepared to follow through with his promise._


	2. Chapter One

_In the end, I updated this a little bit later than I expected (partly due to university Orientation but also because I've been distracted by watching episodes of Merlin). Here it is, though. Chapter One of my story. Thank you to those who took the time to read, kudos and review my story! This received more support than I could have possibly dreamed of, which made me happier beyond what words could describe._

* * *

—**Chapter One—**

Agonising pain burned through his body like fire as he jolted awake, gasping for air. More times than he could have counted, Arthur had endured the excruciating discomfort that lingered in his body after suffering a wound in battle. Several of them had nearly prevented him from wielding a sword as a true knight would and brought him to the brink of death. No impairment he had ever experienced compared to the torment that grasped at every part of him now. His entire body quaked with trepidation as beads of sweat trickled down his back. The all-too-familiar metallic tang of blood seeped onto his tongue where he had bitten into it, and he craved to concentrate the pain elsewhere. As the world around him rapidly spun, he gripped his chest with a trembling hand and violently retched.

Yet his unrelenting anguish never outweighed the immense sensation of remorse that coursed through his veins. Arthur clenched his jaw in resentment, desiring to forget the nightmarish images that plagued him. It had been a long, guilt-ridden decade since he had stumbled into the room with the caged boy, and amid distressing sorrow had shattered the promise he had once made. He had tried desperately to find him, to happen upon the familiar door with the stench of gloom that drifted within the room. He had kept trying until he had started to forget to search at all, when everything about the boy, from his face to his clothing and even his name, had faded from his memory. Until this morning.

"Merlin," he gasped as his vision stilled. The night was far behind him, for morning light spilled into the room. Little time had passed since he had been presented with the title his people had longed for; Crowned Prince. Through his discomfort, he wondered why the images of his father's prisoner had returned to him in the time he ought to be proving his strength and worthiness of the position. "Merlin."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the world to cease spinning. As his vision mended itself, he became irritatingly aware of the blinding light that seeped in through the window. He greatly wished for the discomfort that settled inside him to diminish, a desire his father would never grant him. Sometimes, just sometimes, he felt trapped by his title.

As soon as the thought had slinked into his mind, he ashamedly willed it away, his mind soaring to the boy who had been trapped for so long beneath the heart of the castle. The prince couldn't even be certain that Merlin was alive, given that he would surely have starved, or perhaps even bled until he slipped into death. The very thought made his stomach churn violently and Arthur grasped onto the wooden pillar of his bed, anxious to forget as he had done so long ago. Yet how was it possible for any man to forget such haunting images which had transformed from a distant memory into a horrid nightmare? Determined not to dwell any longer, Arthur pushed himself from his bed, eager to distract himself from the daunting images. The interference he longed for burst through the door in the shape of Sir Leon.

"Sire, you must wake yourself. A matter of extreme urgency has arisen."

* * *

She had grown weaker. Her hands trembled, fingers clasped around the steaming cup as she sipped. The flavour of the mint-infused water soothed her momentarily, only to give way again to the enormous weight of guilt that sat on her frail shoulders. It had been an abysmal ten years, cursed to rest indolently in the chair, wrapped in half a dozen blankets whilst she waited for the information she dreaded. As a firm hand rested upon her shoulder, she wondered whether she would be alive to hear the long-awaited news.

"I want to see him," she whispered, reluctant to settle her gaze on the man beside her. "The gods have made me wait long enough."

An unsteady sigh escaped the lips of the man as a gentle hand brushed against her skin. He shuffled to face her and as she lifted her head upward, she met with the ancient sadness that swelled within his eyes. For a moment, he could not meet her gaze, until she pressed a tender hand to his chin and tilted his head toward her. Despite her fatigue, she smiled reassuringly and pressed a gentle kiss to the fading bruise on his forehead.

"Hunith…" The man spoke her name with tenderness, wildly unlike the monster so many witnessed within him. "You must trust him, my love," was all he said as he dropped his hand away from her, pulling back from his beloved. His own sense of dread was concealed by confidence that Hunith was wise enough to understand was feigned. "Somewhere out there, our son is fighting for his freedom."

"How can you know that for certain, Balinor?" she asked, desiring nothing more than to trust his self-assured words, but the hope inside her had long since diminished. "I heard the rumours from the travellers of this land. They say that the King of Camelot captured a child possessing magical abilities and locked him deep beneath the castle. Nobody has heard anything since. Perhaps it may be time to accept that he…" Hunith trailed off, sadness swelling inside her as she spoke.

"You forget that our son was not taught magic," the man supplied, his lips tugging upward into the beginnings of a smile. "He was gifted with his talents at birth. Though he may yet have much to learn, magic is in the very fabric of his being. That it will protect him, I am sure." Balinor extended a hand and accepted the cup from her. "I can feel it in my bones that he remains alive."

"And what do we do until we are reunited with him?" she asked, hope igniting deep within her core once more.

Balinor paused momentarily, deeply considering her words. His face grew sombre but Hunith was assured that they shared the same hope for their son. "We wait," he answered. "As we always have done, we wait until the prophecy unfolds. That somebody will strive to rescue our son."

"And after that?" Hunith prompted, but this time, she need not wait for an answer as confidence crept into her expression. "After that, we fight. And if need be, we shall go down fighting for the right of our son to be free."

"And fight we shall, Hunith." Balinor squeezed her shoulder. "Fight, we shall."

* * *

_Merlin… _

Somewhere buried deep within the castle, a muffled voice stirred him from his slumber. It was as though a hand had reached out and pulled him from an endless abyss of darkness, guiding him to an alcove with just light enough to make out the shapes that surrounded him. The moment the realisation dawned on him that he had finally awoken, pain tore through every part of his body and almost suffocated him.

_You must learn to disregard the pain… _

Though he longed to do as the stern voice commanded, his wrists burned beneath the rope. He remembered the first time the ropes were unbound, skin stinging red and traces of blood smeared on him, only to have them tied once more. As his head collided with the metal above and his limbs thrashed in response he became painfully aware of just how much he had grown in the past decade. There was once a time when he was able to sit upright in his cage, but now he could barely crouch.

_Perhaps it would be best if you remember a time when there was no such pain in your life…_

He gulped down silent breaths of air, hoping not to make a sound. Growing up in his prison had been frightening and beyond challenging for him. With every sound he made, the guards on duty jumped to their feet, brandishing swords at him until he quietened. Sometimes, he was able to obey them but others, the pain became too much and sharpened weapons would prod into his skin until he bled and could cry no longer. The agony was all he had ever known, all that he ever would know.

_You must remember your childhood__,__ before you were captured… _

As though the thunderous voice were that of an angel, Merlin's mind wandered to the days when he was young. He remembered a village, dotted with animals and wilting crops. A smile curved on his face as he remembered the luxury of his home. He'd had a friend with a mop of brown hair, one with which he'd hold hands and run until the sun went down, but he could not remember the name of the boy. The bland meals he'd tasted in his prison had caused him to forget the sumptuous flavours of his mother's cooking, but he missed the tastes anyway, longed for just one more loving hug. It was a simple life but he had been happy. He was going to become a farmer, until the knights in armour and crimson capes had captured him.

_Very good, young warlock, your pain is almost gone… _

Merlin willed himself to think not of his short-lived childhood, of the time when he was free to do almost anything he had pleased. He remembered the day that his mother scooped him up in a strong arm, lovingly telling him there was a man he must meet. But they had never reached their destination. With sadness, he wondered if she ever did.

_You must pay attention, Merlin. I bring you the news you have longed for… _

His somnolent eyes blinked at the torchlight, surprise and anticipation engulfing every part of his body. Though he kept his lips carefully sealed, he noted that the guard in the room had fallen into a deep sleep, arm swinging loosely at his side, saliva dripping from his mouth. He made sure to keep his eyes wide, focusing on the sleeping man as he listened intently to the mysterious voice. He needn't speculate why it never woke the man, for Merlin had accepted long ago that perhaps he was the only person who would ever hear it, though he never once doubted it was real.

_The time of your escape draws nearer, but you must be prepared. You and your powers are weak. It is crucial that you put your trust into your companion. They will help you as best they can…_

Though every part of him longed to speak, the moment his lips parted, his mouth snapped shut once more. The guard in the room mumbled as he dazedly roused himself from sleep and dragged himself upright. Before their eyes met, Merlin hastily offered an illusion of innocence as he curled in the corner of his cage, hiding the smile beneath his hands. It had been years since he had smiled and it almost strained him to do so, but that did not matter. His days in the cage were almost over.

_It shall be a great pleasure to know of your freedom,__but you must be warned. With your escape, peace shall not be easily acquired…_

* * *

"Sir Eldric is dead."

His hand froze before his fingers traced his lips, the brusqueness of his knight's words startling him. Too many times, the prince had witnessed those around him succumb to their deaths, a great number of those during battle. The loss of life had once placed an enormous burden upon him, but with the firm hand of his father on his shoulder, he had trained himself not to suffer the overwhelming grief that afflicted the commoners. Penetrating blue eyes inspected the contrived confidence on Sir Leon before they lingered on the wild disbelief etched upon his the face of his father.

"How can that be so?" Arthur asked when it was made apparent his father would not. "Sir Eldric was alive and well mere hours ago."

"So it may have seemed," Sir Leon answered gravely. "We informed Gaius of his state immediately. He carried the body to his chambers and has begun endeavours to determine the cause of death, sire."

"And what were the results?"

"He still cannot say for certain," Leon supplied. "Thus far, he believes that a fever may have taken him, or perhaps that he passed due to age, but there are no clear signs."

"Impossible." Arthur's gaze flicked toward his father, whose sturdy hands were clenched atop the table, the information a challenge for him to withstand. "Sir Eldric's thirtieth birth anniversary followed mere hours after my son's coronation. His passing could hardly have been the result of his age."

"There's little evidence for even Gaius to determine a true cause, my lord," the knight bowed his head apologetically. "Neither a bruise upon his body nor a single trace of blood. The cause of his death remains a mystery to us all."

"Perhaps…" Uther pondered as enraged grief begun to shake him.

"Father, I understand that Sir Eldric was a loyal companion of yours," Arthur supplied.

"That is indeed the case," the King minutely nodded. "I have known him since the day of his birth. He had become a trusted advisor of my own."

Arthur frowned, long and hard, daring himself to voice the thought that lingered in all of their minds. "I know that we must be careful not to jump to hasty conclusions," he started, as the eyes of his father and Sir Leon looked upon him for an answer. "Sir Eldric would have informed you if he were dying. And had he suffered from a fever, he would have immediately turned to Gaius. He was always so determined that he would be taken in battle. Understanding carved into his father's expression, but Arthur overlooked it. "His passing ought to be marked as a suspicious one. I find it difficult to believe that he, a man so strong, would merely drop dead without a single wound."

"As do I, Arthur," the King agreed, loosening his potent grip on the table. "Your conclusion is indeed rushed, but I must agree that it is a correct one."

"My lord, that would mean—"

"—Sir Eldric was murdered," the King finished for Sir Leon. "The prisoner was responsible for this."

"Surely not?" Leon asked. "He wouldn't have the power, my lord."

"Yet it seems he has fooled us all," Uther snapped. "We must execute him before the day is over."

* * *

It took but a moment to realise that the bloodcurdling scream had escaped from within the nearby room. She had intended to allow her mistress to sleep, sighing with relief at the comfort that embraced the woman's expression, unwilling to disturb her. The basket which had been loosely held in her hands toppled to the ground, the linen inside it spilling onto the floor as she rushed back into the room, dread showing in her dark eyes. This wasn't the first time that the maidservant had been startled by Morgana's nightmares, and she was certain it would not be the last.

"My lady, what's wrong? My lady!"

Gwen smothered a hand over her lips to stifle a gasp. The sight of Morgana made her heart drop. Her eyes were red and filled with fear, tears spilling as she grasped onto something, _anything _that might bring her comfort. She trembled violently, kicking and turning in the hopes her actions may quell the terrible visions. Gwen rushed over to the bed and placed a hand upon the woman's forehead. Morgana instantly flinched under her touch, but held onto the maidservant for dear life.

"It's alright, my lady, I promise you. It was just a dream," she soothed, withdrawing her hand when she noticed that her mistress was burning up. She desperately longed to inform Gaius immediately, but knew better than to leave the woman alone in such a state. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Morgana's fragile frame.

"It's happened again, Gwen. The dream. The nightmare." Gwen felt the woman bury her face into her shoulders and she shivered briefly at the dampness it brought, gently stroking Morgana's back. She closed her eyes and rocked backward slightly, knowing that was what her own mother would have done before she passed away.

"Exactly," she whispered, her fingers tangling in the woman's flowing hair, hoping the touch might bring Morgana an ounce of comfort. She seemed to grow increasingly frightened as more time slipped by. "It was just a dream. None of what you saw was real. You're here, now. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"Where's Arthur?" Morgana begged, holding tighter yet to Gwen.

"He was called for an urgent meeting," Gwen said. "He should be finished shortly. I shall get him, if you like?"

"It's happening." Her mistress trembled as she was gently nudged back onto her bed. Sweat dripped from down her forehead as she stifled a sob. Gwen seldom saw Morgana so weakened. "The nightmares, they're coming true again. Sir Eldric is dead, isn't he?"

"I—" Gwen started, and shook her head. "I'll fetch you a dampened cloth."

"Well, Gwen? I am right. He's dead?" Morgana demanded, the anger in her eyes demanding not to be ignored.

"I don't know how you can tell," Gwen gave in, biting her thumb. "But I assure you, nothing more has happened. It's believed he died of a fever overnight, that's all. Now, I'll ask Gaius to bring you another potion."

"Forget about the potion," she responded bitterly. "They never help. I need to see Arthur right away."

"You're to stay bedridden until you're feeling better, my lady," the maidservant responded sternly. "Arthur wouldn't want you making yourself ill in this time of grief."

"The visions I see, Gwen. They were so real, I saw him die." Morgana cowered, as though some great force was out there. "I couldn't stand to see both of them dying."

"Both of them?" Gwen frowned in confusion. "I apologise, my lady, I didn't have reason to believe that the thought of losing Uther would upset you so much."

Morgana glared. "You of all people should know that Uther's death wouldn't consume me with sadness," she spoke darkly. "It was Merlin. I saw Merlin die."

"Merlin?" Confusion gripped at Gwen. "Who's Merlin? You've never met anybody who goes by that name."

"He's dangerous, Gwen." As her mistress spoke, Gwen tucked the covers around the frail body. "Arthur's going to rescue him, but it's a trap. He'll bring about Arthur's death. You need to save him."

"You need to rest," Gwen insisted. "If it puts you at ease, I'll check if Arthur's available."

On any other occasion, Gwen would not have simply abandoned her mistress. The two had been friends since childhood and it was she who had sat by the bed of Uther Pendragon's ward, whispering comforting words into her ear and reminding her that her dreams weren't real. Yet over the years, she had begun to learn the truth, to put two and two together. The dreams that Morgana experienced had the frightening potential to transform into reality. Time and time again, she had witnessed the terrified woman predict the death of many knights, the near fatal wounds that Arthur took in battle, even when vengeful sorcerers would attack Camelot.

Gwen swallowed, and instead of striving to find Arthur, she took the first left she could that would bring her to Gaius' chambers. This was not the first time that Morgana had witnessed the death of Arthur in her dreams, but there was something far more real about this than ever before. The certainty in her eyes had been unwavering. Gwen swallowed, eager to maintain her own confident expression, but knowing that if Morgana was right it would be short-lived. She needed to tell Gaius to be prepared for any wound that could otherwise bring about the death of the prince.

And whoever Merlin was, he was dangerous. Perhaps far more dangerous than anybody Uther Pendragon had ever wronged before.

* * *

Age had made him weary. As the days dragged by, the old man noticed how easily he grew fatigued. He could stand for hours, dripping in sweat over a boiling potion, but Gaius found he could do little else. Many would likely experience a heavy weight upon their hearts in such a state, but he was unperturbed. In his time as a physician, he had feared the circle of life until he had little choice but to accept it. He had seen many in their younger years die of severe wounds in battle, had witnessed men half-frozen and women dying in childbirth. He had even clung to the needy hands of old people like himself, who had lost many throughout their lives, but he stayed with them until their final moment.

Were it not for his role as Court Physician in Camelot, Gaius would have little else to live for. He lead a lonely life, having witnessed many of his friends scattering throughout many kingdoms to escape the wrath of this one. Countless men, women and children he had once known had been hunted until he was forced to watch them die, condemned to living a quiet life on his own in his quarters. It eased the sadness that once existed inside him to heal those in need, as though his help would compensate for the many he had lost.

This morning, however, his mind did not once dwell on concocting a remedy for the ill. He had been awoken to the sound of screeching, an alarming noise that had truly wrenched him from sleep. As he rushed to the window in the storeroom, he was shocked to find a raven perched on the window, its leg extended for him to accept a crumpled piece of parchment. Gaius did exactly that and watched as the bird soared away a second afterward.

He settled himself upright on the bed—the bed which he had kept in hope that somebody may one day choose to fill it—and unravelled the parchment, picking up a shard of glass to magnify the neat writing. The old man instantly recognised to whom it belonged.

_My Dear Gaius,_

_As I understand, over a decade has passed since last we saw each other. You must know that Balinor and I are eternally grateful for the helping hand you offered to guide us in our time of need. Though our lifestyle is far from desirable, he remains alive and well to this very day. I, on the other hand, am afraid I cannot have the same said for myself. I only hope that the one wish I have so desperately longed for will be granted. _

_Already, I trust you are aware of the reasons for which I am writing to you. Thus, I dearly hope my letter is not intercepted by, nor revealed to__,__ anybody else lest my son be in danger. It has been many years since Uther captured him and though I am well aware that he may have passed, my friend and lover remains certain he is alive. Merlin, he says, possesses magic far greater than anybody else to have walked the earth. _

_The prophecies—which, although I hope may be true I know not to trust entirely—say that the time is nearing when his freedom will be granted. They speak of another person, whether man or woman, who will help to save the life of my son. Though I understand this may put your life in mortal danger, I ask for no more than to have you lend a hand. I beg you to do so, if you understand a mother's love for her son. _

_The power of my son, Merlin, has been described as powerful. Even so, I understand that this may not be enough to help him live. He will require remedies, he must be properly introduced to the world once more and he requires sufficient supplies to keep him warm during the winters and well fed. When he is freed, I hope you too will find and provide him with all this and more. Once his strength has been regained, I ask only that you return him to me. You know of the cave where Balinor and I now dwell. _

_Whilst I understand the weight of this task may place an enormous burden upon your shoulders, I believe that you will do all that you can to protect him, to hide him from Uther and his men. In the meantime, I hope that you and I may yet meet again. _

_Hunith_.

A quiet sigh escaped his cracked lips as a firm frown plastered onto his face. Gaius read the note once more, truly drinking in every word until his eyes grew sore. He placed the parchment on his lap, staring at the walls that surrounded him. Uther would be sure to notice his absence before too long. The old man scrubbed at his wrinkled forehead, torn between risking the life of Camelot's Prisoner and fulfilling the wish of a mother.

It was the fury in the words that had triggered him, the unrepressed detestation that onto his father's expression which urged him to run at the very instant he left the room. Arthur Pendragon could hardly pinpoint the emotions that surged through his veins. There was aggravation and sorrow entwined into one. On any other day, he would have urged himself to smother his emotions, to maintain the confidence in his expression that his father was able to do so effortlessly Judging by the way people he fled passed leapt out of his pathway, he had reason to believe that his innermost rage was not at all concealed.

* * *

In all honesty, Arthur wasn't at all sure of where he was going. He allowed his legs to carry him through the hallways by nothing but pure instinct, trying to recall every detail of the nightmare that had haunted his sleep. If he closed his eyes momentarily, he could evoke every miniscule aspect of the dream to return to him, from which corridor he had turned left into and how far apart the walls were from one another. Never once did he dare to stop or look behind him for fear he may forget where it was he intended to go.

The further he ran, the more he remembered. Images of the blurred surroundings as he tore after the King and his men filled his mind, intimidation spreading within him. He could still bring to mind the stench of blood as he stumbled into the room, the horribly battered sight of a young boy that had made him ill for months to come. His temper urged him to run faster yet, unfeeling when he knocked aside the servants going about their duties, not at all concerned with the quizzical looks the knights in the hallway offered.

Arthur ran until he found it. The very door he had spent week after week searching for, the door that he had heartbreakingly given up on searching for. Somewhere inside him, beneath the layers of resentment toward his father, there was hope and happiness. Beyond that door was Merlin, still very much alive. For just a moment, his hand hovered at the wood, hesitant to see the state of the boy who had been trapped for no less than a decade – at least until he remembered that his father would soon be on his way, prepared to execute the prisoner as soon as he was presented with the opportunity. The mere thought urged him to kick the door open, uncaring at the pain that surged through his leg.

His jaw dropped. The cage was empty.

"Merlin, you _idiot_!"


	3. Chapter Two

_Although I said it before, I'd like to take a moment to say it again. Thank you so much for the support all of you lovely people have given my story so much. I'm really flattered that people seem to be enjoying what I've written so far, and I hope that stays the same._

_With that out of the way, here's Chapter Two of Caged. I hope that you enjoy it and, to anybody who takes the time out of their day to read this, I truly appreciate it. I've still got plenty of chapters to write and each update will likely be a week apart from one another._

* * *

—**Chapter Two—**

The years were harsh and once they had finally come to a halt, Merlin had wanted nothing more than to escape. His cage had grown too small as his limbs stretched outward, transforming him into a gangly man. Perhaps he ought to have grown accustomed by now to the putrid grey gruel he was served for his limited meals, but every day it tasted worse in his mouth. From the very moment the door to his cage finally opened, he wanted nothing more than to run until he was short of breath. To pass time, his mouth often watered greedily at the thought of the meals he may indulge in and relief washed over his body as he imagined toppling into a soft bed of grass. That was the freedom he longed for as soon as he had clambered from his cage, but his lanky legs had taken him on an entirely different route.

With great concentration, he had recalled where the thundering voice had reverberated from within the castle walls. He imagined the commanding words still rung in his ears, coaxing him nearer to its source. After years of being prodded with sharpened weapons and ambushed by men who cared not for him, he was cautious not to be arrested by the guards once more and he slipped deeper into the castle with ease. It was a challenge, and more than once he urged himself to trace back his steps once more, risking his life in doing so until he found what he was sure resided in the deepest part of Camelot.

This part of the castle was far unlike the room he had grown so accustomed to. Back in his cage, he was granted the opportunity to look at his surroundings in the torchlight, grasping the dull colours of the walls and uniform of the knights on patrol. He'd caught snippets of conversation and emotion as one man would swap over his shift with another, and terrified though he most always was, he had never been entirely alone. His cage and the room were kept clean for the comfort of the knights, but these surroundings offered an entirely different tale.

It occurred to him, with its giant rock walls and eroding pathways, this was not unlike the caves he had visited before he had been taken prisoner. There was an unpleasant stench that lingered in the air, causing him to cover his nose with the back of his hand. No light flooded into the room, only that of the flame on the torch he'd taken the initiative to collect mere minutes ago. In the room was a distant rumbling, a lonely sound that filled him with melancholy. He squinted in the darkness, focusing on the large rock in the distance.

Merlin stumbled backward when it started to move. He completely tumbled to the ground when it started talking to him.

"What a pleasure it is to finally meet you, young warlock."

* * *

"Gaius?" her voice called through the cluttered chambers, dark eyes frantically searching for the man. "Gaius, are you there?"

She wiped at her head with the back of her hand, still visibly shaken by the events of the morning. Gwen had been by the side of her mistress for longer than she cared to recall, witnessing the nightmares that often plagued the sleep of the woman. The visions that stirred Morgana from her slumbers were few and far between, mostly without a significant connection between one another. Until recently, the maidservant hadn't grasped quite how much everything had started to change, each nightmare resuming from the previous night's, growing all the more intense as the days crawled by. Admittedly, Gwen had started to grow guilty. For the past handful of day she had rushed into Gaius' chambers, waking him at unholy hours or when he was in the middle of work. The man would drop everything without complaint, endlessly loyal as one of Uther Pendragon's most trusted companions.

"Gaius?" she called once more, anxious when her words were met with nothing but silence. Unconvinced that the physician would ever abandon his chambers at such an early hour, she took a seat on an old wooden chair. It almost toppled beneath her weight, its legs wobbling dangerously, and she made a note to fix it before the old man hurt himself. Her dark eyes scrutinised the cluttered room before they focused on a bundle of cloth upon the desk. Her brow creased in curiosity and she glanced quickly around the room to ensure no one would intrude, pulling back the dirty rag.

Her trembling hand whipped toward her chest as she gasped, eyes wide with shock. Though covered in a layer of dust, the words on the book were still clear enough for her to make out: _A Study In Sorcery: Beginner's Guide_. As if on cue, the door to the chambers were pushed open and she stumbled off the chair, smothering the astonishment that uncoiled in her stomach.

"Guinevere, is that you?" Gaius asked, squinting as he stuffed his hands behind his back, his movement accompanied by a suspicious sound of jangling. "What-ever brings you here?"

"I… I… _Gaius_," she stuttered, unwilling to believe the thoughts that spun through her mind. He was too good, too loyal to practice magic under the very nose of Uther Pendragon. "I was just—"

"You seem troubled, my child," the man observed, pushing his spectacles up his nose. "What concerns you?"

"I was just wondering where you've been," Gwen managed to choke out, edging away from the man as he stepped closer to her.

"Has Morgana had another nightmare?" he inquired, and without waiting for an answer, shuffled over to his cabinet of potions. "I fear my remedies don't seem to be doing their job."

"No, she…" the maidservant shook her head, throwing the cloth back over the book before Gaius could see she had unveiled it. "Her nightmares are getting worse."

"I dreaded you would say something along those lines," Gaius said. "I fear if I give her too strong a potion, the side effects may weaken her considerably. It is a risk we cannot take. Uther would never allow it."

"Morgana doesn't wish for another potion," she cut in before he could say anymore. "I believe she would only like to confront Arthur. She saw him die in her nightmare overnight. I've never seen her so afraid." Now it seemed that Gwen found that she could relate all of a sudden.

Gaius snapped his head upward, the beginnings of a frown on his face. He tilted his head upwards, studying the maidservant from afar, and hummed in thought. "I believe it may be best not to worry Arthur. As Crowned Prince, I believe he may have quite enough on his plate at present."

"Shouldn't that be a choice for Morgana to make?"

"I suppose you're right," the physician considered. "Nevertheless, I fear that if Arthur is made to panic too early on, Camelot will be at greater threat of an attack."

"Of course, Gaius." Gwen bowed her head respectfully and turned toward the door. "But it would put her mind at ease if she was sure that Arthur will be kept safe."

The two exchanged no more words as Gwen walked toward the door, unwilling to swallow the lump that had settled in her throat. Her mind was a haze, no longer clear of what her true intention had been upon arriving at the physician's chambers. The fear that coursed through her at the thought that Gaius, of all people, had smuggled a book of magic was overwhelming. If ever the man were caught, Gwen had no idea what she would do with herself. A sigh escaped her lips as she made to depart, longing for nothing more than a damp cloth to be pressed against her forehead and a long rest. Before she opened the door, however, the maidservant turned back to face the physician.

"In her nightmare, she said there was a person called Merlin. I don't know whether or not he exists, but Morgana believes that he'll bring about Arthur's death." With that, Gwen gave a sharp curtsey and slipped out of the chambers, not looking back in time to see the look of utter disbelief that had taken over Gaius.

* * *

No matter how hard she may have willed them to cease, the tears that trailed down her pale cheeks were reluctant to slow. Her entire body trembled with fear as she stumbled through the castle in her night gown, fear on her face as she searched for Arthur. The people she tore past offered her quizzical glances or else tried to capture her attention by clinging to her arm, but Morgana was strong. She was able to shake herself from their tight grips as she carried on, swooping through doors and corridors.

The fear that settled inside her flourished with every minute it took to track him down. She grew desperate, demanding that guards and knights and commoners inform her of the Prince's whereabouts. They merely offered identical shrugs and presumed he was in his bedchambers, so Morgana grew infuriated with them. It wasn't possible that not a single person in the castle knew where Arthur had disappeared to.

"Morgana?"

She turned on her heel, dangerous aggravation flaring in her eyes as she faced Gwen. Her expression softened only a little at the woman's unease, but she strode up to her maidservant nevertheless.

"Where is Arthur?" she demanded, voice sharp enough for Gwen to hold her posture ramrod straight in shock. "I've searched everywhere, and he's nowhere to be found."

"I thought I instructed that you stay in bed, my lady," Gwen pointed out. "Arthur will show up eventually. You can discuss this matter with him later."

"I will do no such thing," Morgana snapped. "His life could be in peril even as we speak. We have to find him now. If we don't—"

"—then he'll be even safer than he is now," her maidservant offered. "I spoke to Gaius and he's right, Morgana. He believes that if we worry Arthur about this now, he may struggle with his duties as Crowned Prince."

As though she longed to say something more, Morgana parted her lips only to purse them but a moment afterward. Although the fear seemed to tug around her throat, a wave of calm washed over her as she took hold of her maidservant's hands and squeezed them between her own.

"You're right, of course. I should thank Gaius later for his help." She smiled and gave Gwen a polite nod. "Of course, since I can't tell Arthur, there is one course of action we can take." At Gwen's quizzical look, she continued. "We must inform Uther immediately."

And even if just for a second she stole a glimpse of the disbelieving shock that took over Gwen, Morgana opted to ignore it. As long as Arthur was protected, Camelot would be safe once more.

* * *

Slender fingers brushed the soot from his shirt as his knees burned with pain. He knew that they had grazed the uneven ground and that blood seeped from the fresh wound, but he barely spared a thought for the agonising ache otherwise. Given that Merlin had witnessed very little in his life, anything as simple as a rat or a cobweb had intrigued him in the cage. To say that he was surprised to have encountered a dragon not even an hour after he had escaped was an understatement.

The truth of the matter was that Merlin considered his eyes to have deceived him. Any man would likely delve into a state of delirium having spent so long cooped up in a space where he could barely move a limb. There was also that insignificant detail that he had believed dragons to be beasts that appeared only in stories, which made him wonder whether or not he had really escaped at all.

"You seem surprised to see me," the dragon chuckled and Merlin, if not for the fact he was careful to keep his composure, would have stumbled backward yet again at the sound.

"You could say that," he managed after huffing in surprise. "Are you real?"

Merlin watched, eyes wide with anticipation, as the dragon readjusted its position. It spread its wings by its side, as though stretching out the pain. After a deep inhale, the beast breathed a bout of fire through its mouth, the flame so close to Merlin that he could feel the heat. It was reassurance enough that he was not caught in the middle of some strange dream.

"I am as real as you and the cage you were once trapped in," the dragon explained, sitting down once more. "And quite like you, Uther captured me several years ago. I have been in this cage for longer than you have been a prisoner of Camelot, young warlock."

"For longer than—" his lips parted in surprise, eyebrows high up on his forehead. "How is it that you're still alive, if you say you've been trapped for longer than I have?"

"I am a creature of magic, as are you." As the beast spoke, Merlin noticed the way its tone almost shook the entire cave, its voice reverberating off every wall within. Merlin shuddered and glanced uneasily over his shoulder, wondering whether anybody else might hear. "And like you, my life has been hanging on a thread. Without our powers, the two of us would have suffered our deaths at the hands of Uther Pendragon."

At the words of the dragon, memories flashed before Merlin's eyes. He remembered little of his childhood years, of the freedom that had once been a part of his life. Yet there were small details he willed himself to remember after all this time, the stories his mother had once told him of a king who cared not for Ealdor. His brows knitted together, desperate to grasp why a man who ruled a different kingdom would have grown so willing to hunt down a child. When the answer did not come, Merlin looked toward the dragon.

"Something is troubling you, young warlock."

"There is something," Merlin nodded. "Why did Uther capture me? How did he know I even had magic?"

Merlin stared as the beast observed him, its eyes filled with a world of understanding and sadness. The beast's mouth fell open, as though prepared to give him the answer, but in the end it shook its head. "That, I cannot answer because I do not know why." Merlin could feel his heart plummet in his chest. "Uther is a cruel man, determined to rid magic from this world. But that does not mean the answer to your question will remain unknown forever."

"So there is an answer?" he asked, almost _begged_, but the dragon bowed its head in remorse.

"Perhaps it is up to you to find that out. But you cannot go about this task alone, Merlin. You must search in this castle for the one who will help you to escape Camelot. But heed my words, he must not find out about your magic."

"Who is the one that you say will save me?" Curiosity and excitement mixed together inside of Merlin, but neither could rid the anxiety that coursed through his veins. The longer he lingered, being instructed by the dragon, the more likely it seemed that someone would find him.

"Before I tell you that, you must do something for me." The dragon's eyes lingered on the chains it was bound to and in an instant, Merlin felt his stomach drop. "Your escape from the hands of Uther depends on more than just your saviour alone. In order to fulfil your destiny, you must free me. With my help, you'll have time enough to escape from the city walls without Uther or the knights noticing."

Merlin didn't know where it came from, the part of him that was screaming to do anything but help the dragon. The anger and loneliness that he had suffered throughout the years of being trapped in a cage was paramount, and though he would never follow through with his plans, he envisioned many times that Camelot should crumble. As it was, guilt found a home inside his stomach whenever he thought of the people, innocent villagers who played no part in his capture. He knew that the dragon was likely to be far less merciful than he and with those thoughts, a rejection was at the tip of his tongue.

"Tell me what I must do," he said instead, sensing the pride that filled the dragon.

"Those chains are powerful, crafted for the very purpose of holding a creature of my size and strength. You will need magic to break them," the dragon guided. "Your magic may be weak, but it is enough to fulfil this task."

"And after I've freed you?" Merlin asked.

"You will see, young warlock." The dragon stood up once more, anticipating the moment when Merlin would step down and do as it had asked. "You will see."

And maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe it was that his eyes had grown weary in the years of seeing so little, but Merlin could have sworn that he saw the beast smile.

* * *

Anger transformed into fear as he trudged through the castle, caring not for the innocent people he shoved out of his pathway. Teeth clasped together, he wondered when the guards had grown so careless. Camelot was renowned for the strength of its people and yet they seemed unable to drive intruders away or keep prisoners within their walls. As he went on, he considered that it wasn't as though he _wanted_ Merlin to be caught. All the same, not a single person knew of the prisoner's whereabouts and the Prince could only hope that this would be a one time incident, lest dangerous enemies be let loose into the world.

"Arthur!"

The voice that growled from behind him sounded sinister, and at this point, he wanted nothing more than to tear off in the opposite direction. Instead, he chose to spin on his heel, careful to hide the bout of loathing and worry that seemed to have conquered him. His father looked even more menacing than Arthur felt, and he realised he was too late. The man, too, had noticed that there was an empty cage deep within the castle and a missing prisoner.

"You must go to your chambers immediately," the king instructed. "You are far safer in there."

"My chambers?" Arthur spat. "Father, I'm _Crowned Prince_. Now is hardly the time to be hiding away from danger!"

"It's for you own safety." Uther did not hold back the glare in his eyes as he swiftly strode to his son, clasping his shoulders with severe tightness. The Prince tried to shake the man off him, but his attempts were futile. It was hardly a surprise to know the man was stronger than him. "I have enough reason to believe that your life is in mortal danger, so you will do as I command. You must go to your chambers."

* * *

Unsteady fingers grasped onto the rock for support. How the beast before him expected for him to reach the chains alive baffled Merlin. The chances Merlin had to stand up, let alone walk, had been few and far between. Every time he was released from his cage, he was only granted permission to take a few steps forward before having weapons of all kinds brandished at him, which almost always ended in him crashing to the floor. His limbs were weak and uncertain, and even the journey to the dragon's cave had been a challenge. Merlin wondered how he would ever make it out of the castle alive.

"You must learn to trust in yourself, Merlin. Think back to the days when you once wandered freely."

Every part of him wanted to proclaim that it was hard enough just remembering just how happy he had been in those days, to remind the dragon they were all but a distant memory. But now was not the time for him to come across as weak and rather than ignoring the words, he gripped tighter yet to the rock and used every ounce of his strength to haul himself toward the dragon.

"Can't you give me a little help?" Merlin asked through gritted teeth, but the beast merely chuckled. "I'll take that as a no."

"You need to get used to your body once more, Merlin," the dragon explained. "If you do not do this, then I will not believe you're ready to make this journey."

_If I ever make it up to this dragon_, Merlin thought bitterly, _I'll kill him_. But at the moment the thought occurred to him, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood in regret. In many ways, the creature was lucky in comparison to him. While Merlin could hardly toss and turn in his cage, the dragon had the chance to spread its wings and fly about the cave to some extent. But it had been trapped for longer than Merlin ever was, simply for being a creature of magic. The thought urged him to work harder yet, fingers, legs and arms screaming in protest until he finally made it to the large chains.

For just a moment, he collapsed onto the uneven ground, feeling more uncomfortable than he ever had before. He half expected the dragon to urge him to carry onwards, but this time, the beast remained patient until Merlin caught his breath once more.

"Lie still for me, young warlock. Close your eyes," it requested. "I will grant to you the power you need to break these chains."

With not enough breath in his slender body to argue, Merlin did as he was told. He could hear the dragon as it shuffled around to face him, surely staring at him with gratitude. A gushing sound filled his ears and Merlin became all too aware that the dragon was inhaling before warm breath tickled every part of his body. It was the most wonderful feeling he had ever experienced, as though life itself as being poured into his every nook and crevice. He could feel the magic pumping through his veins, awakening him to a whole new world of strength. Merlin expected the sensation to disappear when the dragon finished, but instead it lingered.

"I have given you the power that you need to free me," the dragon explained and Merlin opened his eyes, watching it unfurl its wings in anticipation. "And now, I will grant you the knowledge that you wanted. The one who shall free you."

"Go on?" Merlin prompted, sitting upright and flexing his fingers, making use of the energy while he still had it.

"Arthur Pendragon," the beast answered quickly. "Son of Uther Pendragon himself. The one who promised to free you a decade ago. It is he who is destined to turn against his father to save you, and it is he who shall bring peace to this kingdom once more."

"Arthur?" Merlin frowned in disbelief. "You've got to be joking. He's no different to my father. If he'd wanted to free me, he had the chance to do that all those years ago."

"Perhaps," the dragon nodded. "Or perhaps not. That is your side of the story, but I believe Arthur's is an entirely different matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Merlin asked, but found himself unsurprised when the dragon sidestepped the answer.

"The chains, young warlock," the beast shifted its gaze toward the metal once more, nodding as though in encouragement. "You must hurry. I can sense that Uther's men are on the move, and they are wise. After all this time, they will still think to check my dwellings."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

The dragon's lips curled upward once more. "You must believe in yourself."

* * *

In his chambers, the old man made ready to betray the King who he had served for more years than he cared to count. He had experienced much over the past few decades, feeling every emotion in the book and more, but that did not make him blind from pain and hurt. Every object that Gaius picked up, he was reminded of a betrayal he had committed. With each item he slid into the small bag, he remembered the hurt he had caused and experienced, and how he thought that making a home for himself in Camelot would keep him from angering the people who surrounded him.

As Gaius shuffled around the room, packing up his life's work into what few bags he ought to take with him, he wondered how and why he had agreed to Hunith's request. Every person he had upset came with but one consequence: losing their trust, friendship and loyalty. Hunith was just the same as those people, would be the easy way out. Gaius shook his head, trying not to think of the consequences he would face if he were caught and the death sentence that would surely face him. He had grown old enough not to fear death, but he was certainly wary of the pain that would lead to it.

He picked up the crumpled note he had received a day earlier and inspected the writing. He couldn't quite explain why he was so confident that Merlin was of greater importance than his life. Perhaps it had something to do with Uther's insistence of capturing him when he was but a child, or of the darkness that had followed the boy's imprisonment. Maybe it was a combination of the two and so much more, but whatever the answer, Gaius knew that it was Merlin to whom he must be loyal.

When he'd packed the last of his belongings that he needed to take, Gaius patted the bag, deep in thought. He knew he could not be the one to free Merlin from the castle. He had smuggled people from Camelot countless times before, but that was more than twenty years ago. He was an old man now, lacking the stealth and haste he had once possessed. If he left now, under the guise that he wished to leave Camelot for his own safety, then he could set off on a journey to find the boy Hunith had asked him to protect.

The last thing that Gaius picked up was a long stick to support him, for beneath the heavy bags he would hardly be able to hold himself upright.

With one last look at the room that he may not see again, and no expression on his face, Gaius left, unaware that a pair of guards would soon come to stand outside his empty room.

* * *

It was useless even attempting to defy his father's wishes. The man, so confident that his actions were in his son's best interest, had refused to listen to reason. Arthur had tried to defend himself, even struggled to explain why it was imperative that he offered his assistance (if only to drive the knights in the complete opposite direction of the escaped prisoner), but the King had given the command he had hoped his father would not; that the guards restrain him and force him into is chambers.

Unwilling to be humiliated in front of his father and knights, Arthur had given in and proclaimed he would return to his chambers, however much he longed to disobey the orders given to him. He could sense that his father had sent one of the guards to follow him and ensure he returned safely to his chambers and Arthur wanted to turn around and scold the man, but instead he continued on forth, feet thumping against the floor as he walked.

In barely any time, he reached the large doors that lead to his chambers. Bitterness conquered him when he drank in the sight of the two guards standing vigil either side of the entrance. At once glance of them, a frown broke through his expression and he pointed a threatening finger at them.

"I don't care what my father has asked you to do, but you are to leave your positions at once," Arthur growled. "Stand guard outside the houses of the people who don't have the resources or the strength to protect themselves."

"Sire, the king has instructed—"

"Did you not hear what I said?" he asked, voice menacing. "We have a Court Physician. My father may deem him insignificant, but I wholeheartedly disagree. His life is valuable and without him, you would be nowhere. If the city is on high alert, he ought to be protected. Now go."

"Sire, I really don't—"

"_Go_," he hissed, and was relieved to see the guards nod, regret on their faces. Later, Arthur would ensure that they avoided punishment, but for now the most he could do was watch for any signs of the prisoner from his window. He charged into his room, prepared to lift up any heavy object that his hands could find and to throw them, to unleash his rage on the unwitting inanimate objects.

Instead, he went hurtling into the figure of a gangly young man, who promptly fell flat on his backside beneath Arthur's heavier build. Arthur gasped, rolling off the man hastily before his mouth fell open in surprise.

"_Merlin_?"

But instead of offering him an explanation, the pale man simply swayed on the spot as soon as he stood up, only to come toppling forward once more. Arthur grabbed hold of him before he could collide with the ground, and wondered how on earth he had ended up with a prisoner in his own quarters.


End file.
